


Prove It

by huffellepuff



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: F/M, not even canon divergence but just...ignoring an entire plot point entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffellepuff/pseuds/huffellepuff
Summary: Amalia has a fierce competitive streak that seems to go from a minor inconvenience to a major problem where Mr. Nowack is concerned. She might just be in over her head with their latest argument...





	Prove It

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 84th anniversary to Georg and Amalia! This fic entirely ignores how they fell in love in canon. :) Dear Friend, who?
> 
> Thanks to improbablefiction on tumblr for beta-ing.

Amalia liked to think of herself as a reasonable woman - quiet, polite, logical. She usually thought about her actions before taking them, she didn’t invite conflict into her life, she fulfilled her responsibilities and was altogether an upstanding citizen. However, as soon as competition entered the picture? All of those qualities seemed to disappear. She had been this way as long as she could remember, though fortunately this side of her hadn’t had _too_ many opportunities to reveal itself in her adulthood. That is, until she met Mr. Nowack.

Ever since that first day, when she got the job despite his best efforts, the spark of competition had turned into a fully raging fire. It seemed that not a day went by without one of them trying to oneup the other and it did not exactly bring out the best in her. 

Today as they were packing up their belongings to go home, they got into an argument about life experiences, of all things, and Amalia found herself losing her objectivity quickly. 

“Have you ever even _been_ to the symphony, Miss Balash?” Mr. Nowack asked her.

“Of course I have! I happen to have a great appreciation for fine music. In fact, I was very recently there on a date.” She was lying through her teeth at this, the date had been a long time past (and had gone rather poorly), but it just slipped out.

“A date?” He looked oddly stricken by this, as if surprised she had ever even been on a date.

“Yes, Mr. Nowack, a date. Surely you’ve heard of it, but I’ll explain just in case. A date is when two people who care for each other meet, generally in public, to enjoy an activity together, often dinner, a film, or, in this case, attending the symphony.”

He rolled his eyes as she spoke. “Very funny. I know what a date is, I’ve been on several myself.”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have thought so. Was the poor lady under great duress to agree to such a thing?” 

“Some women happen to find me charming.” He looked confident as he spoke, despite the blush that had begun to creep up his cheeks. 

She gestured to his bare ring finger and smirked. “Obviously not charming enough.”

Immediately, his blush deepened and she could see that she struck a chord. 

“I don’t see you heading down the aisle anytime soon either, Miss Balash,” he said coldly.

The comment stung, and she scrambled for a way to bring the focus back to him. “Please enlighten me, Mr. Nowack. What exactly about you did these women find so charming?”

“I can’t - I mean, I don’t - I couldn’t tell you exactly what…” He ran his fingers through his hair, something she’d noticed he did a lot when he was frustrated (and around her, that was most of the time). “Things may not have worked out long term, but I assure you, the lady in question enjoyed our engagements.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? How on earth am I supposed to prove it?” 

“Prove it by taking me out.” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think about it.

He stared at her, evidently speechless for the first time in their acquaintance. 

She felt just as shocked has he seemed to. Why on earth had she said _that_?

“You want me to… to… take you out on a _date_?” he asked, looking at her warily.

She swallowed hard. She wanted no such thing, but it was far too late to back down now.

“Yes. Well, no, I don’t _want_ to go out with you, but for the sake of argument, you should, well, have the chance to prove yourself,” she said, hoping he didn’t realize that she had never given him this chance in any other arguments. “Unless that’s too daunting for you, of course.”

“No! I would be happy to prove my point, even at such a great cost as an evening with _you_.”

“Great! How about tomorrow night? Eight o’clock?” She stood closer to him in hopes of intimidating him towards canceling this absurd challenge. Unfortunately, he also took a step forward and smiled at her.

“It’s a date.”

\---

This argument preceded the weekend, so Amalia at least had a chance to sleep in after a rather restless night. Had she really challenged Mr. Nowack to a _date_? What was _wrong_ with her? Surely this was not a thing that normal people did. 

She woke around noon, her mind pleasantly blank for a few moments before she remembered. All of the questions that kept her up last night came back with a vengeance. Groaning, she pulled the cover back over her head and tried willing herself to go back to sleep. Perhaps if she stayed in bed, the rest of the day just...wouldn’t happen.

Unfortunately, there was no opportunity to test this idea, as there was soon a knock at the door.

“Amalia?” her mother called through the door.

“Just a moment,” she yelled back, rolling over and almost falling out of the bed. She stumbled to the door, hoping she didn’t look as exhausted as she felt. Taking a deep breath and plastering on a smile, she opened the door. “Good morning, mother.”

“Hello, darling.” Her mother gave her a quick hug, then looked her over and frowned. “Are you only just getting up?”

“I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all.”

“Alright,” she said, looking at her skeptically. “Well, I came over to see if you wanted to join me tonight, there’s supposed to be a very interesting speaker at the library.”

Amalia frowned, wishing for the millionth time in the last day that she had just ignored the bait Mr. Nowack had provided. “I can’t, I’ve got a date.”

Her mother’s face lit up and Amalia realized what she had said.

“A date?” 

“No! No, not a date, well sort of a date, but….” Amalia struggled to think of some way to turn this around without revealing that she’d gotten herself into this through competition. She didn’t feel up for dealing with her mother’s lecturing on top of tonight’s embarrassment.

“But what?”

“But…” She sighed. “Nothing. Yes, I have a date this evening.”

“Amalia, that’s wonderful! Do I know the young man?”

“Um,” she said, thinking of all of the horrible things about Mr. Nowack that she’d previously shared with her mother. “No, I don’t believe you do. I met him at, um, through work.”

“What’s his name?” 

“Georg.” Thankfully, she had never revealed his first name to her mother.

“What a good, strong name.” Her mother beamed at her. “Well, what are you doing? You’ve got to get ready!”

“Mother, he won’t be here for another several hours…” 

“And you haven’t even started curling your hair.”

Amalia sighed and resigned herself.

\---

Around 7:30 that night, Amalia’s mother finally considered her well groomed enough. She knew her mother wanted her to get married, but she had no idea she was _that_ desperate. One mention of a date and she was practically another person.

After her she left, Amalia took a look at herself in the mirror. She had had no intention of putting this much effort into her appearance - she had planned to be presentable, of course, but she didn’t want to give Mr. Nowack the impression that she actually cared about this so called date. But the damage was done and she had to admit, she looked _good_.

At 7:59, there was a knock on her door.

Steeling herself, she opened it.

“Good evening,” she said, attempting to smile graciously at Mr. Nowack.

“Good evening, Miss…” he began, but seemed to lose track of what he was saying as he looked at her. 

Amalia flushed as she noticed his gaze trail down her body, before his eyes snapped back up to hers.

He cleared his throat and looked sheepish. “Ah, um, Balash. Miss Balash. Hi.”

“Hello.” Ignoring the slight thrill she felt at what had just transpired, she pushed forward in the most business like manner possible. “So, Mr. Nowack, what is the agenda?”

“We’re going to start with dinner,” he said, his previous look of embarrassment replaced by the arrogant grin he wore so often at work.

“How original.”

He ignored her barb and held out his elbow, indicating that she should hold on to the crook of his arm. She stared at the offered arm for a moment before looking up at him skeptically.

“I won’t bite, I promise,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “If I’m going to show you that I know how to take a woman out on a proper date, you’ll have to at least _sort of_ work with me.”

She considered it for another moment before resigning herself to the truth of it. Placing her hand against his arm, she felt another small thrill. 

“How are we getting to dinner?” she asked as they approached the street. 

“Walking.”

“No car, Mr. Nowack?” A shadow briefly crossed his face and she immediately regretted her comment. Many things were fair game to poke fun at, but given that they worked in the same shop, she was well aware that his financial situation really wasn’t one of them. And many people in the city didn’t have cars. She certainly didn’t. “I mean...it is a lovely night for a walk, so I don’t mind.”

“Were this actually a date,” he began, smiling down at her as they walked, “the walk would actually be a selling point. A stroll on a crisp, early autumnal evening? You have to admit, it could be conceived as romantic.” 

“Romantic?” She shot him a sideways glance.

“In a context where the two parties felt anything other than disdain for each other, I mean.”

She smirked. “I suppose so. How far away is the restaurant?”

“Just a few blocks,” he said. “The Café Imperial.”

“Oh!” she squeaked. “That little place with the red curtains in the window? I’ve always wanted to go there!”

Mr. Nowack smiled at her - an actual, genuine smile, not the know-it-all smirk he usually wore - and Amalia suddenly felt slightly weak in the knees as she looked at him. She had to admit, he had a wonderful smile. A handsome one. She felt herself smiling right back at him.

At least until she stumbled over an uneven piece of pavement, breaking the moment. She steadied herself against his arm and looked down at her feet, allowing her to see where she was walking _and_ hide her burning cheeks. What on earth was that about? Had she really thought he looked handsome?

Risking a glance back up at him, she noticed he was biting his lip. When they made eye contact again, he quickly turned his gaze forward. 

“I’m, um, glad to know I picked out an acceptable restaurant,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve heard it’s very romantic.”

“So much talk of romance, if I didn’t know better, Mr. Nowack, I’d swear you were trying to woo me.” She laughed, but a small part of her wondered if it was true.

“Woo you? Oh, please,” he scoffed. “I’m just proving you wrong, that’s all.”

“Date’s not over yet.”

\---

When they arrived at the restaurant, Amalia was surprised to find that Mr. Nowack had already gotten them a reservation. With only about a day’s notice, she had expected the plans to be a little less...well, planned.

A somewhat uppity waiter directed them to a table that seemed awfully out of the way of the others. Of course, that was kind of the point of a restaurant like this, but it felt odd to be so secluded with Mr. Nowack.

“Wow, how...intimate,” she said, hoping Mr. Nowack didn’t take any additional meaning from her words.

“Indeed,” he replied. He gave her a sort of half-smile and she realized that he was _nervous_. Perhaps he felt as intimidated by their surroundings as she did. 

They sat in silence for a moment, avoiding eye contact until the waiter reappeared with their wine. He filled the cups and almost began to walk away, but Amalia stopped him. “Why don’t you leave the bottle?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Nowack smirking. 

“What’s that look for?” she asked as soon as the waiter left the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll happily pay my share.”

“No, no, it’s my treat. What kind of date would I be if I made you pay?” He laughed. “It’s just that I was about to ask him the same thing.”

“Glad we’ve got something in common,” she said, laughing with him. “So, Mr. Nowack, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve?”

“Generally speaking, the rest of the time at a restaurant would include things like conversation and eating dinner.”

“Alright, well, get to conversing.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

She gave him a pointed look. “This isn’t date conversation.”

“True,” he said, still smirking at her. “Well, Miss Balash, tell me. What are your hobbies? Besides torturing innocent shop employees, I mean.”

“Oh so innocent…” she scoffed. “My hobbies mostly revolve around the arts. I enjoy reading, music, and art. Of these, reading is of course the most accessible, so that is what I spend most of my leisure time doing.”

He looked at her appraisingly before asking, “What kind of books do you enjoy reading?”

“All sorts, really, but lately I’ve been reading a lot of Austen, Tolstoy, Stendhal, Dumas…” She trailed off as she noticed him looking at her strangely. “Is there a problem, Mr. Nowack?”

He shook his head and smiled, confusion lingering on his face. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised that I read?” She felt herself flushing, but for a far more familiar reason this time - anger.

“No!” he blurted, putting his hands out as if to stop the thought in midair. “I’m surprised that we read so many of the same things. Do you know what book is sitting on my bedside table right now, Miss Balash?”

“Of course not,” she said, eyeing him curiously.

“ _War and Peace_. And prior to that? It was _Emma_.”

Amalia couldn’t help but to gape at him. She expected to be mocked for her tastes, not to have him _agree_ with them. She struggled to find an appropriate response through her shock, but was at least able to ask, “And are you enjoying _War and Peace_?”

“Very much so, it’s actually not my first time reading it.” He grinned at her and her stomach felt like it did a little flip. Clearly, she’d already had too much wine on an empty stomach. “Have you read it?”

“Oh, yes, more than once.” She briefly debated how much to share, but the temptation of getting to talk about one of her favorite books was too strong to resist. “I’ve always related on some level to Natasha. Not in terms of her family or suitors or anything, but when I was younger, I think I was similarly full of that hope, magic and mischief. Of course, I never expected to relate to her as she is towards the end of the novel, but life has ways of surprising us and I certainly find that I do.”

Mr. Nowack looked at her thoughtfully before speaking. “I don’t think Natasha ever fully lost those traits, though, and I don’t think you have either.”

She was confused by the tender kindness in his voice, but appreciative nonetheless. “Well, thank you.”

His eyes widened slightly and Amalia wondered if he was as surprised by his response as she was. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair. “I mean, you definitely haven’t lost the mischief, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I suppose not.” She smirked at him. “And what about you? How do you connect to the story?”

“Oh, I relate to Anatole, for sure,” he said, a playful light in his eyes. “You know me, super suave, taking out a different woman every night, drinking until the sun rises, tying bears to police officers...the usual.”

“I can definitely see it,” she said, holding back a laugh. “Smooth as butter.”

The waiter came back to take their orders, startling Amalia. She had briefly forgotten where they even were, she was so lost in the conversation. She grinned sheepishly at Mr. Nowack before ordering. Maybe this night wouldn’t be as awful as anticipated.

\---

Over the course of the meal, they discovered that they had more in common than Amalia ever could have dreamed. Conversation flowed easily, going from playful to personal and back again without issue. It was like she was meeting an entirely new Georg Nowack. This couldn’t possibly be the same man who had antagonized her so thoroughly at work - and whom she had admittedly antagonized right back.

By the time the waiter brought the check, she had almost forgotten why she was out to dinner with Mr. Nowack in the first place. No matter how well they could apparently get along, this was still an answer to a challenge. And honestly, who could say whether he was being totally genuine or if he was just a much better actor than she’d assumed? His goal was to show her he could take a woman on a good date and, well, he was certainly managing so far. That didn’t mean it was for real. As he reached for his wallet, she put her hand on his to stop him.

“Are you sure I can’t pay my share? It’s not like this is a real date,” she said, adding that piece for her own benefit as much as for his. 

His face fell slightly, and she tried to ignore the flare of hope that it felt real to him as well. One good conversation with the man and she was hoping? This was absurd.

He removed her hand from his own and persisted. “No, Miss Balash, I’ve got it covered. This may not all be _real_ , but I said I’d pay, so I’m going to pay.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down at the table. The easy mood between them had disappeared.

“Sorry?” He sighed. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Tonight doesn’t exactly follow any usual social guidelines, does it?”

“Not really.”

“Now, as for what’s next…” He looked at her and bit his lip. “We can either go see a film or…”

“Or?” “Or go dancing,” he finished, frowning.

“Dancing!” Amalia said, surprised by her own enthusiasm.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Then why did you suggest it?”

“Because I logically know it’s a good choice for a date, and that’s what this is all about, right?”

She considered letting him off the hook for a moment, but she rarely got to go out like this and was going to take full advantage of the opportunity, no matter how strange it was. “Well then, Mr. Nowack, show me a good time.”

\---

As they walked to a nearby dance hall, the easy conversation seemed to come back to them. A date with Mr. Nowack wasn’t at all the torture that Amalia had expected, and she wasn’t sure what to do with this information. 

Just before they got to the door, he stopped. She turned to look at him, but he gave no indication of a reason - he just stood still, staring at the doorway.

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Nowack?”

“I’m...fine. I’m fine,” he said, giving her a weak smile. 

She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t make him go through with this, as the man was clearly terrified. “Why don’t we go see a film instead?”

“No, no, I told you we could go dancing, so dancing we will go. But I should warn you, I’m a pretty terrible dancer.” 

“Noted,” she said. Still, he did not budge from where he stood. “So...are we going to go in?”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Yes.”

Inside, the music and chatter around them made it nearly impossible to hear one another. Mr. Nowack looked horribly out of place. Nothing about his physical attributes or clothing was remarkably different than the others in the room, but everything about his demeanor screamed _I don’t belong here_. Left to his own devices, she might never get out onto the floor, so she took matters into her own hands. Or, more literally, took _his_ hand into her own. The physical contact seemed to startle him, and he looked at her, confused. Rolling her eyes, she dragged him out onto the dance floor.

She leaned in close enough that he could hear her over the music. “Now, put your hand on my waist.”

He tentatively reached out, placing his hand as instructed. Though she had told him to do it, he looked as if he was afraid she might explode. She tried to smile encouragingly as she raised their entwined hands up, put her hand on his shoulder, and began to move.

Despite his protestations, once they got going, he seemed to know the basics. He moved his feet to the rhythm, only occasionally stepping on her. However, he simply could _not_ relax. She was pretty certain that if he could get out of his own head, just a little, he could be a half-decent dancer. 

As the song ended, she suggested getting one more drink before trying again.

“Sorry,” he said as they walked towards the bar.

“About?” she asked, genuinely curious. Despite all of her earlier expectations to the contrary, he hadn’t really done anything apology worthy all night.

“The dancing. I stepped on your feet, and I’m not very good at it -”

“Mr. Nowack, you have nothing to apologize for. I mean, yes, you did step on my feet a couple of times - ” she said, and he winced. “But you are not as terrible of a dancer as you seem to think. Have a drink, loosen up a little, and I think we’ll be fine.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just kind of compliment me?”

“I said you’re not as terrible as you think,” she said, flushing. “It’s hardly a _compliment._ ”

“But coming from you…” he said, a small smile growing on his face. “I’ll take it as one. You, too, are not a terrible dancer.”

She laughed. “Gee, thank you, Mr. Nowack.”

He ordered them each a glass of wine, and they sat at the bar, watching the other couples dance. Part of her felt wistful, wishing that she could be out there dancing with a man that _she_ loved. But another part of her was content where she was, sitting next to Mr. Nowack, of all people. Maybe...maybe this was one glass of wine too many.

“So, how does the evening rate so far, Miss Balash?”

“So far?” She debated how honest she wanted to be. “It’s...also not terrible.”

He smiled at her. “Another rousing endorsement.”

“As loath as I am to admit it, I’m enjoying myself. There, are you happy?”

He drained the last bit of wine from his glass and grinned. “You know? I am. Come on, let’s dance.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her back onto the floor. 

His entire demeanor had shifted, nervousness gone, and it was oddly thrilling. She no longer felt like a longsuffering teacher, as she had just a short while ago, but like a woman on an actual date _ought_ to feel. Mr. Nowack was actually leading the dance, and his hand wasn’t just gently resting on her hip - he was _holding_ her. 

Apparently the alcohol had done the trick. With each successful step, Mr. Nowack appeared to be more confident in his footing. As they danced, they got closer to each other, and Amalia was suddenly struck with the awareness that a handsome man was holding her close. Because yes, she had to admit, he really _was_ handsome. Prior to this realization, she had still felt like she had the upper hand with this whole dancing situation. But out of nowhere things seemed to have flipped and she was terrified - of the lack of control, and of the fact that she kind of _liked_ it. 

She tried to ignore the logic (or lack thereof) in the situation and just enjoy the moment. After all, she was a single woman dancing with a single man, why _shouldn’t_ she enjoy herself?

And enjoy herself she did. It had been years since she had last gone dancing, and that had been with a man her mother set her up with - a man with whom she had absolutely no connection. She wouldn’t have expected things to be much better with Mr. Nowack, but somehow they were. She felt free, and full of hope. In that moment, things felt _possible_.

Unfortunately, when the song came to an end, whatever spell they were under began to fade as well. They were both flushed and breathless, from the dancing and, at least on her end, from the awareness of just who she was dancing with. She looked up at him, feeling shy. A small lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead and she had the insane urge to touch it - just to brush it back into place. It was an action that, date or not, was far too intimate. But _oh_ , she wanted to.

“Want to get some air?” he asked. The confidence was gone, and he seemed nervous again. 

She nodded. Air would be good. With air might come logic, and that was certainly what she needed right now.

She followed him outside into the crisp night, the breeze cold against her warm skin. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to be even more disheveled. Still, that little curl remained on his forehead. She looked away.

“Miss Balash…” 

“Yes?” Something like hope was building inside of her, but she didn’t dare think about hope for _what_ exactly.

“I think it might be time to call it a night,” he said, biting his lip. 

She looked down at her watch and was alarmed to see that it was nearly midnight. “Oh! I suppose you’re right, I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

Once again, he offered his arm. “Shall I walk you home then?”

“Yes, thank you.” She took his arm, far more aware of her proximity to him than she had been at the start of the evening.

Things between them felt different, yet again. There wasn’t the adversarial energy of the last few months, nor the easy banter from earlier in the evening. They spoke of the same kind of things as they walked - comparing favorite composers, discussing museum exhibitions - but things seemed almost charged. Amalia felt as if whatever barrier had originally existed between them was gone, but that in its place they had built a new, awkward one. 

\---

By the time they arrived at her apartment, Amalia was almost ready to shut herself in without even saying goodbye. Not because he was so awful, but because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle this, this...whatever this was.

They stopped outside of her door, and she let go of his arm. She began to dig in her clutch, looking for her keys, as Mr. Nowack stood next to her, swaying somewhat awkwardly. Finally, she felt the jagged edge of the key under her glove.

“Well, Mr. Nowack…” She told herself it was best to get this over with quickly and move on. “I have to admit, I had a lovely time tonight.”

He smiled, a sort of half smile that was unfairly charming. “I did too.”

“So, I guess you win. This time, at least,” she teased, hoping he couldn’t tell that her heart just wasn’t in it. She hated that everything tonight had been because of a ridiculous _challenge_.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, looking almost disappointed. “Well, uh, good night, Miss Balash.”

“Good night, Mr. Nowack.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment, and without realizing what she was doing, Amalia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. 

She was certain that the shock on his face closely mirrored hers and she hastily turned towards her door, unlocking it and slipping inside without looking back at him.

Oh dear Lord, what did she just do?

\---

Amalia woke the next morning, startled out of a perfectly lovely dream by her alarm clock. Her initial thought was regret that she had set her plans with her mother for such an early hour, but her second was a realization of just what that lovely dream had been. She had been with Georg (as she called him in the dream), and all of the strangeness from last night was gone. They had sat together on her couch, her head resting against his shoulder, and read the morning paper together. It was such a simple, quaint kind of dream, which made it all the more alarming. Had she dreamt of a night of wild passion with him, she’d surely have woken up mortified, but at least it could have been written off as a side effect of too much alcohol and dancing the night before. But dreaming of quiet domesticity and so enjoying it? That had no easy excuse.

She forced herself out of bed, knowing that her mother would be up in arms if she were late for Sunday breakfast the morning after a date. If it weren’t for that fact alone, she’d be calling her mother and pretending she was ill. The last thing she wanted right now was her mother’s scrutiny, when she had no idea _what_ she was feeling. Nothing about what happened last night made sense to her.

Could she possibly have developed feelings for Mr. Nowack in so short a time? It seemed impossible to reconcile the petty, angry man from Maraczek’s with the shy, thoughtful man whose company she so enjoyed last night. But if she really thought about it honestly, her own behavior towards him at the shop wasn’t the best reflection of herself, either - or at least, she _hoped_ it wasn’t. 

Perhaps they had just gotten off on the wrong foot and they were both too stubborn to get onto the right one. Everyone else seemed to like him just fine, much as they liked her. 

She sighed. She needed to slow down. Just because they had gotten along alright last night and she _might_ be developing some kind of crush, it didn’t mean that _he_ felt that way. What if she was getting attached and he was just...playing the part, in order to prove his point to her. It seemed unlikely, but it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. The streak of competition between them _was_ fierce.

Tomorrow at work, she’d just have to see how things went. If he was back to his usual, rude self, well, at least this little crush should be easily gotten over. But if he was like the man she went out with last night...she’d figure out how to deal with it. In the meantime, though, she had to put on a happy face and go see her mother.

\---

Thankfully, she somehow made it through breakfast without spilling everything to her mother. She told her that the date was nice, that she thought she might like the man, and that she really did not know if they’d be seeing each other again. Technically, none of it was even a lie - she would be seeing Mr. Nowack again, obviously, but not necessarily in a _romantic_ context.

When she returned home, she found that a note had been slid under her door, with her name written in an elegant hand. 

_Miss Balash,_

_I apologize for the presumption in leaving this letter for you, but I find that it is often easier for me to express myself through writing. Even in writing, I am not sure how to say this._

_I find myself unable to stop thinking about our appointment last night. It is beyond my understanding how something that started in bitter rivalry could end up being so wonderful, but here we are. I thoroughly enjoyed our time together and, if I am not mistaken, I believe that you did too. I suspect this comes as as much of a shock to you as it did to me._

_The thing is, I am a romantic at heart. This may or may not surprise you, and I hope I do not have reason to regret telling you this - somehow, I trust you not to use it against me. I have been known to read into situations and see promise where there is none. Knowing this, I had decided to move on from last night and act as if it hadn’t occurred. You helped my resolve with your frequent reminders that it was not, in fact, a real date. But then, you kissed my cheek._

_I have no way of knowing just why you did that or what the feeling behind it was, except to ask you. So, Miss Balash, I am putting my pride aside and asking. What did you mean by that kiss? Did you, too, feel like something between us had changed?_

_If you happen to be reading this note in horror, I hope you can at least find the kindness in you to respond civilly._

_Humbly yours,_

_Georg Nowack_

Amalia read and reread the note, her heart beating wildly. She tried to find some hint that this could be a cruel joke, because things like this didn’t just happen - but he _seemed_ sincere. And she found that she really, truly wanted to believe what he had written, because something _had_ changed between them. Perhaps if she saw him, she would be able to feel certain of his sincerity. But discussing this in person would put her in such a state of vulnerability, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. So, for the time being, she determined to write back to him. 

\---

After well over an hour of struggling over each word, she read over her response once more.

_Dear Mr. Nowack,_

_There is no need to apologize for the letter. I, too, prefer to write things out when they are important or prone to being misunderstood._

_It would appear that our feelings are, for once, in accord. Last night was a complete surprise to me, almost upsettingly so, for it was easier when I was convinced that I hated you. I hope you won’t take offense in me saying that it’s hard to reconcile the idea of liking you, for I’m sure it was a strange revelation for you as well._

_To answer your question: I kissed you because I wanted to. Because it felt like the right way to end a lovely evening, despite my protestations about it not being a real date (which were only for the sake of reminding myself). I cannot explain it any further than that, for I don’t really understand it myself._

_I’m rather uncertain about how to go forward from this point, but what I do know is that I like you, Mr. Nowack. Sincerely._

_A. Balash_

This would have to do. There was so much more she could have said, speaking of the hopes for the future that had been kindling, but she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Rash decisions based in emotion had, historically speaking, not worked well for her - particularly when it came to Mr. Nowack. By acting on the frustration and pride felt on their first day working together, they’d had months of rivalry rather than kinship. And perhaps they would’ve gone on a _real_ date long ago, and who knows where they’d be now…

No, she couldn’t let herself be carried away by this newfound feeling for him. For now, assuring him that he was not alone in believing things to be different between them would be enough. Figuring out her heart would have to come later.

She sealed the letter and headed outside, trying to keep her breathing calm as she walked. As much as she tried to tell herself that the worst case scenario would be disappointment and a return to their previous antagonism, it did nothing for her nerves. So much had changed in the last day that she couldn’t bear the idea of just being bickering colleagues again. 

When she reached Mr. Nowack’s apartment, she had only the intention of slipping the envelope under his door and fleeing before he could notice. They could meet tomorrow morning, after they’d each had a little more time to get used to the idea of...whatever was happening. But no sooner had she reached his door, than it opened. 

“Miss Balash!” His look of surprise at finding her there quickly shifted into a grin, so joyous and genuine that it nearly took her breath away. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” she said, trying to recover herself. “I received your letter earlier today…”

“Oh?” His voice came out slightly higher pitched than usual, and a slight blush appeared on his face.

“I...well, I didn’t intend to actually see you, I was just going to give you this.” She took the envelope from her pocket and offered it to him. 

His face fell as he took the letter from her, and she realized how her words had sounded. 

“Not that I didn’t want to see you!” she blurted. “I mean, I _didn’t_ , but not because of you. I just, well, didn’t really know what to say. Obviously. Just...read the letter, please.”

“Should I wait for you to go?” he asked, eyeing her with hesitation.

She took a deep breath. “No, go ahead.”

He unfolded the letter slowly, appearing as afraid of the paper itself as the content. She turned away as he read, wanting to leave him some sense of privacy. The note was short, she knew it could only take him a moment to read, but she stared intently at the doormat until she heard him clear his throat. Looking up, her eyes met his.

“Miss Balash,” he said, smiling warmly. “Would you do me the great honor of going on a date with me? A real one this time, without pretense or challenge or competition.”

“I’d love that, Mr. Nowack.” Her heart felt full as she grinned up at him. “Only, I must say, I have a difficult time imagining there wouldn’t be at least _some_ competition.”

“Well, maybe a little,” he said, laughing and reaching for her hand.

Her fingers entwined with his and she squeezed. “Now, when would you like to take me out?”

He lifted his free hand and looked at his watch. “Hmm. How about right now?”

“Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the prompt "Prove it. Kiss me." but I decided that was too similar to the mistletoe fic I had written, so I just went a slightly different way with it.


End file.
